This blog describes my journey as a Foreign Service officer, wife of another FSO and a mom to a boisterous, loving boy.We began our careers with the State Department in 2010/2011 and first served in amazing Bangladesh, followed by fabulous Rio de Janeiro. We are currently serving in Washington, DC. Our lives are a pleasant circus and we cannot believe just how lucky we are to live our dreams.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Iftars, Lebanese Tzatziki in Australia and Naked Catholics

The childless madness continues – while Son gallivants in
Europe with Grandma, the Diplomat and I overdose on Iftars, tennis and
sunlight. Last 10 days saw us attend 8 Iftar parties, whether for work or pleasure.
While I certainly appreciate the cuisine and the concept of the Iftar party, I
have to admit it took a toll on me. As faithful diplomats, we Americans host
and attend a slew of formal representational Iftar dinners. In and of itself,
that is all very nice. But often the dinner unfolds something like this:

Me: So, you are from the Bangladeshi foreign ministry, in
the consular section, how exciting!

(Very serious) BGD diplomat: Yes. (Pregnant silence)

Me: (beginning to eat) That must be very interesting.

BGD diplomat (gently drinking a glass of lemonade, frowning):
Yes.

Me (filling mouth hastily with tasty breads): So, do you
have kids?

BGD diplomat (suddenly and intensely): How do you think the U.S.
recent policy change in Iran will affect the status quo in the region???? What
are the real issues for the presidential elections?? Who will be the running mate
for the Republicans?? WHO WILL WIN THE ELECTIONS??

Me (mouth full of bread and goat biryani, rather startled,
stupefied): Wha’? (muffled by the bread)

So, yeah, while the food is great and company highly
engaging, it is not all that easy to be the consummate diplomat that I fancy I
am during an Iftar dinner.

The night Ramadan ended, on the eve of Eid-Ul-Fitr, the
Diplomat and I, and what seemed like ¾ of the American Embassy and the
remaining expat community in Dhaka, climbed a Bangkok Air flight and ran to
Phuket. For us, it marked the beginning of our annual R&R vacation. Now,
this is how great of an employer the State Department is. Depending on where
you serve in the world, it understands the need for some well-deserved R&R
by its weary employees and so it generously provides them with a free ticket to
a chosen destination (that depends on where you serve) to relax and forget
about visas and demarches. Thank you, State Department, thank you very much!

We spent 5 blissful, tennis and sun-drenched days in Phuket
where we slept until 10.30 am, ate, jumped like maniacal mongooses in the silky
ocean, slept some more on the beach, ate late lunches, read deep literature, played
tennis for hours and then gazed intently into each other’s eyes every night
over copious and unhealthy dinners.

Among all of these delights, however, our favorite remains
the Thai massages – whether it is just a humble foot massage, a protracted aromatherapy
something or a traditional Thai (something of a gymnastics fete), every time we
are in Thailand, the Diplomat and I make sure to overindulge. Unfortunately,
when you go to traditional tourist destinations like Phuket, you are more than
certain to get more than you have bargained for. For me, getting a massage is
an entire experience – from the smell of oils, to the darkened lights, to the fragrant
towels, to the quiet lull of the parlous to the ultimate excellence of the
massage itself. In most massage places on the main streets, people tend to get
foot massages. To serve that need, parlors are in essence long wide corridors
with many large comfy lazy-boy chairs lined next to each other. Maintaining
silence is common sense and courtesy provided by most sensible clients. So, you
can imagine my chagrin when, after a day of intense eating and ocean jumping,
the Diplomat and I sat down in a nice looking, fragrant massage place, and
within seconds of having my feet washed and expertly mauled by a freakishly strong
woman, I realized that I was sitting to a massage aficionado’s worst fear – a
rather gregarious lady. In the next ten minutes, I learned all about her tzatziki
business in Sydney (third largest in Australia, mind you!) and the large
amounts of Lebanese in Australia, info which she shared eagerly and rather
loudly in the most uncanny New Jersey accent with the hapless Greek gentleman who
had the misfortune to be sitting next to her. When I could not take it anymore,
I turned politely to her and in most sugary annoyed voice asked her to perhaps,
please, tone it down a bit, she turned to me and in the utmost earnest manner
passionately said to me, “I don’t blame ya!” and did not utter a single word
for the remainder of the massage. It was indeed, one of the best I have had so
far.

I am happy to say that among the other useless activities,
the Diplomat and I also went to a dance club! Yeah, we are WAY cool. We even
remained there for like 30 minutes. Cool. COOL!!

Yesterday, we packed our bags and rushed back to Dhaka where
we spent the day laundering and repacking, and ready to fly to Paris tomorrow
morning. YEAAAAAAAAAAAH! See you in Europe, everyone!

PS - As I am typing this, I am also watching National Geographic’s
Taboo show, featuring Catholic churches in which everyone is butt naked. A-hum.
Naked. Not, like, attractive naked. More like rather large, all-in-your face
kind of naked. One with God. Amen!

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About Me

I am a corporate lawyer turned mommy, diplomat and, at times, stay at home wife. I used to live in NYC with the Diplomat and Son (born in September 2008), and then in 2010 we moved to Washington, DC so that my husband and I can begin our tandem career with the State Department. I love martinis, single-malt scotch, high-heeled shoes, little black dresses, good cigars, exotic travel and the general good life. Being a mommy, while awesome, is tough but I fight the good fight to preserve my “cool NYer” every day, one martini at a time. Am I a good mom? Abso-freaking-lutely!